A Day In the Life: Relena's Diary
by Oakwood
Summary: Relena goes on a date, and tells all in her diary. It's light, slight, fluffy, vapid, and REALLY should have been checked for grammar, but there you have it.


**Standard Disclaimer:** I do not own _Gundam Wing_, nor do I have express written consent to--eh--_borrow_ the use of its title, characters, or their likenesses. This fiction is written purely for kicks, and I am in NO way receiving benefits, payment, or even respect for this piece. This work is an original, and can not be borrowed, copied, printed, stolen, or poked on a Thursday with a spoon for profit. To do so would violate my rights as an author, and be an all-round cruddy thing to do.

**Unstandard Disclaimer:** I have nothing against Relena. She has in no way harmed me physically or mentally (being an animated character and all), and I am not in the International League of Relena Bashersª. SheÕs just **way/b> too easy to pick on. On with the show!**

**Warnings:** Relena. Relena writing in a diary. Fluff and general goofiness. 

**A Day In the Life: RelenaÕs Diary******

Dear Diary,  


Well, today was the day of my date with Tom. Or was is John? I become so overwhelmed with requests for dates now that IÕm royalty that I find myself having difficulty keeping names straight.

Where was I? Ah yes, Tom (or John). What a bore HE was. My goodness! To start off with, he picked me up in a Porsche. A _Porsche!_ Can you believe that? Talk about your death traps! It didnÕt even have air-bags **or** Gundamium-reinfored door panels! Tom/John kept hitting the accelerator, and casting a sideways glance at me as though I were either going to scream, or stare at him all starry-eyed for driving over 70 mph. Hmph. IÕd like to see him last two minutes in the cockpit of the Zero One HeÕd pass out before he could get 2 miles up in the air.

Things began to look up when he took me to diner at that lovely little cafe that used to have a fountain out front before the entire building was completely demolished during one of OzÕs many attempts on my life. Heero saved me, of course, and oh! doesnÕt it look beautiful now that itÕs been remodeled. You can hardly tell where OneÕs cannon gun left a smoldering crater in the ground. They turned it into a dropped dance floor! IsnÕt that clever?

We decided to try out the new dance floor while our table was being prepared (we were early because of Mr. International Speedway), and Tom/John turned out to be a very fine dancer. Almost as good as Heero, although Tom/John lacks the natural coordination that comes with being trained as a soldier before even the earliest memory. I wish things stayed that pleasant all evening, but things took a definite downturn once we were seated.

I ordered filet mignon after I grilled the waiter about where the cattle that we used were born, raised, and slaughtered (I wanted to make sure I wasnÕt supporting any War-Like nationÕs national beef economy), and Tom/John and I had a conversation. Or, at least, **I** tried to have a conversation. After listening to the nerd drone on and on about the Ògenerations of fine, strong menÓ in his family (none of them have _ever_ been arrested--not ONCE! How dull), I changed the subject to something vastly more interesting. ÒSo,Ó I asked Tom/John, Òhow stupid do the Romefeller jerks think we are to buy that ÒMoving Forward in PeaceÓ crap when theyÕve tripled Mobile Doll production alone in the last two months?Ó I shook my head. ÒI mean, ignoring the **multitude of ÔunstableÕ countries theyÕve still got under trier collective thumb . . .Ó**

This is when he cut me off and asked if I thought he should have asked for a red Porsche for his birthday instead of the dark green.Ó

I knew it was up to me to save the conversation for the evening, or else it would grow so dull that my head would surely implode. I brought up the most interesting subject I could think of: the Rebellion. From here I thought the date was going rather well. We chatted for over two hours, well, **I** chatted. Tom/John is a silent type, just like Heero. I was so involved with the conversation, that I completely forgot to eat my steak; not to worry though, the waiter was _more_ than happy to wrap it up for me. Tom/John, however, somehow managed to find time to have dinner, desert, and several cups of coffee. I love this cafe! They are so discreet. I never even noticed the waiter bringing over more food.

IÕm afraid it went screaming downhill faster than Heero after an Oz military base after that. Tom/John drove me home without so much as even looking in my direction, and when we got to my front door, he said, with his eyes fixed on the ugly green steering wheel of his Death-on-Wheels-Mobile, ÒYouÕre obsessed. **OBSESSED!**** Never call me. Never acknowledge you even ****know** me. Just stay away from me, you Rebellion Hero Wannabe!Ó He slammed on the gas as soon as my purse had cleared the door. Some people!

Honestly! Me? Obsessed? IÕll admit, IÕm a little more involved with the Gundam pilots than perhaps is safe, and Heero and I **do** seem to cross paths an awful lot, but that doesnÕt mean IÕm obsessed!

And besides, itÕs not as though IÕm doing this for my **own** benefit, or even for the benefit of the Sanq Kingdom that I continue my relationship with the Gundam pilots, I have other people I have to consider. Like the pilot I used to transfer schools and to go to Antarctica that one time, why, just last week he told me because of my continuing patronage, heÕs been able to add two people to the payroll, AND buy a new plane. And what about Geeves*? HeÕs become the official tracker of Gundam activity in the Peacecraft household. He spends every night monitoring the Oz airwaves to pick out information, hacking military mainframes on the Internet, and the like. The maid, Fifi, even told me he has covered all his walls with aerial maps marking the sights that have been hit by which Gundams, and the damages and losses inflicted. ItÕs so important for older people to have a hobby.

Although, secretly Diary, I began to wonder: was I even the tiniest bit obsessed? I mean, for a complete _stranger_ to say such a thing . . . I managed to ignore it at first, but I was so distraught that by the end of the night I had called Noin at 1 am! I told her the whole story, and let me tell you, she put me immediately at rest. She said I was perfectly normal, and that my interest in the Gundam mission was perfectly rational. IsnÕt silly how someone, who you barely know, can upset you so? Noin was a lifesaver! But, I have to admit, IÕm starting to worry about her relationship with Zechs . . . .

Wow! I didnÕt realize how late it was! IÕll write more tomorrow after my date with Steve. At least, I _think_ his name is Steve . . .

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

* I can not for the life of me remember the name of the Peacecraft butler. Geeves was substituted for my convenience. 

P.S. Yes, I know the grammar leaves much to be desired, but I didnÕt have time to go through it with a fine tooth comb. My next one will be better!

~Oak


End file.
